Gotham is Rotting, Dear
by mahxie
Summary: Jonathan Crane was away for only two months... Who would have guessed that Gotham had changed drastically? There's a new commissioner in town, and he wants the Batman behind bars. With Batman evading the police, new and more dangerous criminals are taking control of the Underworld. What's one Master of Fear to do with the changes? Why... Regain control, of course... T for language
1. Friendly Strangers and Rude Awakenings

**A/N: I dropped a few stories, I'm sorry, but I'll pick up writing soon. I've been in the Batman mood and I really needed to write something to do with the Rogue's gallery. As I am in love with both Jonny Crane and Eddie, I figured I'd write about them. But I write about Ed so much (which I never post on here, once again, apologies) so I wanted to do something in Crane's perspective. :) **

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**Chapter 1- Gotham is Rotting, Dear...**

**Friendly Strangers and Rude Awakenings**

It was an early winter, Jonathan Crane concluded. He hated winter- it was cold, which meant he had to find new and warmer clothes for him to wear and it was snowing constantly, never ceasing. Also, that meant his previous hideout- a small barn near a cornfield- had to be abandonned. Ah yes, that lovely, quaint little barn... He'd miss that place. It was completed with _Scarecrows_ and everything.

Grabbing an oversized, shabby coat (it wasn't like he was above bank robbery... He just prefered to used his money on producing his fear toxin) and a pair of fingerless gloves, he packed up his boxes full of chemicals, books, and laboratory equipment and headed to the city. A city where the Batman roamed, where Jonathan Crane could easily be found amongst the large buildings and stores. He vaguely remembered having a 'lair' (as Ed called it) in an abandonned chemical factory, but he hadn't been there for two winters. It was extremely clichéd, but it would have to do, considering the circumstances.

Jon was in deep thought as he left his summer lair. Part of him was mocking Pam, because winter always killed her 'babies', and the other was wondering how everyone else was faring. He knew Ed was trapped in Arkham- probably in solitary confinement as well, knowing his ego the size of Texas. Harleen and the Joker were off galivanting wherever they went on the first week of winter- probably Metropolis. He adjusted his glasses, figuring that Jervis was in Arkham as well, along with Arnold Wesker and that God-awful doll, Scarface, of his.

As he was deep in thought, he completely missed a hitch in the paved road he was walking on and tripped, landing on his face and shattering his glasses.

"Oh, f-" Jonathan growled, about to swear when a car pulled up along the side of him. He glared at the car and the people inside of it, who were, of all things, _smiling cheerfully_.

"Need help there, friend?" The driver, a man- Caucasian, about 6'3, brown hair and blue eyes, Jonathan noted- greeted him as his long arms grabbed his box full of the few items he possessed.

"No." Jon snarled, standing up and brushing himself off. It was only then that he noticed a few of his beakers were shattered inside the carboard box and he cussed, colorfully. The couple in the car gasped at his language.

"Are you sure, friend? You seem downtrodden, and could be in use of a ride into the city!" The woman- black hair, brown eyes, Caucasian, 5'2- flashed bright pearly whites at the supervillain. He narrowed his eyes and snatched his glasses off his face, tossing them carelessly into the box. He would have to go to Arkham to get another pair... Goddamnit.

Friend. Jonathan almost laughed, the corners of his lips twitching up just slightly. This couple was clearly not from Gotham.

"I reckon you live in Gotham, then, hey, pal?" The man asked.

Oh yeah, definitely from Hicktown, USA.

"Yes, I do." Jonathan grumbled, "I can find my own way into the city, thank you very much."

"Nonsense, pal!" The man said again. Uhg. _Pal_. There's one word that Jonathan would rip viciously out of his vocabulary. Ed better not ever think about using it. "Come on, take a seat! We'll drop you off at your house. We need to get a tour guide for the city, anyways!"

Jonathan's eye twitched ever so slightly at the man's tone. Was it impossible to leave a man walk down the side of a highway with an overly large box of fear toxin in peace?

"Fine." Jonathan hissed.

"Wonderful! Get in, then, bud!"

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Oh, the ride was horrible. Jon told them to drop him off at the docks, where his warehouse was located, after they insisted he show them around the city. (His tour guiding skills were meek. It mostly consisted of 'that's Wayne tower' and 'that's the mall' and then 'there are the docks, good bye.')

He would have preferred dying of frostbite and hypothermia, slowly losing one limb at a time, sitting in his summer hideout.

He didn't even bother to thank the couple. Actually, he never even learnt their names, not that he cared in the least. It reminded him of the time in Arkham with that one blonde nurse... She developped a crush on Jonathan, and babied him all the time. She, too, was overly cheerful. It was disturbing. (Of course, so would be Jonathan's line of work to some people.)

Jon rolled his eyes as he marched into his warehouse. He half expected to see Ed sitting on his couch in a calm facade when Black Mask was out for his blood, or Jervis, sitting on the floor with a rabbit (hopefully not dead, like last time) having a _very meaningful_ conversation with it about how a raven is like a writing desk. Or both combined, except Ed going raving mad at Jervis' lack of attention to him, and the illusive riddle.

What he found, however, was genuinely surprising. It was completely quiet. Empty. Odd.

Jon ignored the foreboding feeling and proceeded to put his stuff away, organizing his lab equipment on the small, oak desk that was still there from his last use of the hideout, and put his books and chemicals on the large bookshelf, standing beside the desk.

Other than that, Jon really had nothing else to put away. He found his couch and (stolen) tv were resting in the same place as they used to. His shabby excuse for a bed was resting in the corner. He found his scythe behind the bookshelf and pulled his costume out of his box, resting it on the desk. He kept the scythe in hand, though, and went to scout out the place.

After he decided it was clean, no trace of any one actually trespassing, Jon decided to rest. Just an hour nap would suffice. He was a light sleeper, he'd wake if he heard anything out of the ordinary.

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And indeed he did. He opened his eyes to find a very panic stricken Edward Nygma staring down at him, domino mask and bowler hat on, albeit still in his straightjacket, with his cane tucked between his tied-up arms.

"Holy hell!" Jonathan bolted straight up, connecting his forehead with that of Ed's, causing the two to hiss in pain.

"What the fuck, Ed!" Jonathan hissed, "Why are you still in your straightjacket? What the hell is going on?"

Edward stared at his ally, eyes wide, "Jon, the city's gone mad. There's a new commissioner. He issued an arrest on Batman. He's been placed on a higher caution than the _Joker_. He's too busy evading the police to capture any of us, and the police are on orders to take down the Bat, so criminals are running rampant!"

"I was gone for a summer, Edward." Jonathan's eyes narrowed, "I highly doubt things could change that much while-"

Edward interrupted him, "Things _have_. And things will only get worse if you don't help."

"Jesus, Edward." Jonathan pinched the bridge of his nose, "Did you just escape or something?" _Your voice is grating on my nerves_, was what Jon really wished he said.

"Yes!" Edward yelled, struggling with his straightjacket, "Infernal contraptions, I've been struggling with this 'new brand' for 20 minutes, Jon. TWENTY MINUTES. While you were _sleeping_! This isn't kindergarten, anymore, Jonathan. Nap time isn't necessary."

"What makes you think I'll help?" Jonathan asked, completely ignoring the jab and standing to help Ed get out of his straightjacket.

"There's a new breed of criminal out there. Worse than the Joker. If they don't get stopped, we'll have no chance of regaining power." Jon unclasped the last buckle of the jacket and Ed let it tumble off his shoulders, catching his cane just as it was about to fall, "And they stole the recipe for your fear toxin."

Jonathan's eyes flashed angrily as he snarled out a reply, "They'll rot in the hands of fear."

"There's the Jonathan I missed." Edward sneered at his friend, "But before you freak out and terrify millions, we've got to find the others."

"Don't tell me Pamela will be involved." Jonathan growled.

Edward laughed his flighty (and kind of insane) laugh, "You know I'd kill her in a blink of an eye," he said with a smile, "but she's necessary. So is everyone else."

"For what?" Jonathan didn't really even ask before he saw a glimmer in Edward's eye. He sighed in annoyance.

"We're going to find the bat!"

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**Reviews are love.**


	2. New Faces and Little Green People

**A/N: New chapter! Sorry, I was having writer's block on this. God, it's so shooooort. I thought it would be longer than this. D: I guess I went into more detail in the first chapter. On my document, though, it was 3 and a half pages. I s'pose that isn't long, but, you know... Anyways. New chapter. This explains stuff. Well, some stuff. It leaves on a cliff hanger, type thing so don't kill me. I'll work on the new chapter soon. Thank y'alls for the three reviews. It's better than nothing!**

**Oh, and since I forgot this last chapter: I own _everything_. Because, you know, when you own stuff, you write fanfiction about it.**

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**Gotham is Rotting, Dear: Chapter 2****  
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**New Faces and Little Green People**

Arkham Asylum was, by no means, a happy place. Filled with psychos, killers, schizophrenics and, of course, the masked villains of Batman known as the Rogue's gallery.

Now, Jervis Tetch was usually a happy man. Lost in his wonderful, little fantasy world filled with Alices and tea parties, Jervis was able to keep himself amused while in the dreary setting of Arkham.

Uncharacteristically, today, Jervis was not happy. He refused to crack a smile, didn't mutter one quote about Wonderland or it's citizens, and, more bizzarly, did not want his hat. This abnormal behavior, however, had something to do with Lyle Bolton.

The former security guard turned Batman villain was being let out of Arkham's cells and returning with a uniform and gun.

Yes, Lyle Bolton was bailed out by the new commissioner and returning to society as a policeman.

Honestly, Jervis was just happy that Bolton wasn't returning to Arkham again. That was torture, literally. But having a man like that, out working in the police force? It was... Well, it was like having _Edward Nigma_ work as a performer at the Iceberg Lounge. The two just didn't go together.

Besides, Edward just can't sing.

This depressed Jervis a bit, because he knew that both of his friends, Jonathan and Edward, were out there, with the new commissioner, and Lyle Bolton with his thirst for revenge.

For the first time in a while, Jervis wasn't all that happy.

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A beige file slapped the commissioner's desk.

"What's this?" The man, hidden behind the shadows, behind the desk asked. His fingers laced together over the file, thumbs tapping impatiently against each other.

"A f-file, sir. It's of the recent escapees of Arkham." The police officer in front of him stammered.

"The breakout, hey?"

"Y-y-yes sir."

Slowly, the man lifted the folder and peered inside, "Nygma, Joker... This is important why?"

"W-well, Commissioner Gordon always asked me to deliver a report whenever a crazy escaped from the nuthouse..." The policeman murmured, "I figured you'd-"

"I'm not Commissioner Gordon." The man interrupted, "I have sources in Arkham, I know who's left and why. My main job right now is to get rid of the Bat, and the crime will take care of itself."

"Yes sir," the officer shakily saluted, "I'll return with more information on the Batman's whereabouts, Commissioner Bullock."

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Vines grew sporadically around the green house, leaving passersby wondering exactly who was spending all of their time there. Unless you were a complete and utter dunce, or you just paid no attention, you'd notice a pulsating, green glow to the plants as well. Maybe, if you looked _really_ closely, you'd see, every now and then, a twitch in one of the leaves, or a shifting of the tendrils.

"I hate plants." A voice cut through the silence. Two figures moved from the shadows and closer towards the greenhouse. One was tall, muscular, and had an extremely deep voice. His partner, however, was small, plump, beady eyed and shifty.

The tall one smacked the short one upside the head, emitting a squeal, "C'mon, Pig, the boss said to be quiet."

"I heard Poison Ivy was really sexy," 'Pig' continued, "and her hair-"

"Do you _want_ to be tiger meat? Boss'll feed ya to Shiba." The tall man grunted, grabbing Pig's chubby forearm and pulling him towards the door. Pig reached into his pocket and grabbed a lock picking kit, only to find out the door was already open.

Pig and the other man glanced at each other. They both shrugged and slid into the greenhouse as discreetly as possible.

"Boss says grab three vials of plant toxin." The tall man hissed, shoving Pig roughly forwards, "Go grab it. I'll look out for Ivy-"

"I've had a lot of men come and go from my greenhouse," a voice from being the men whispered, "But never two at once... This must be my lucky day."

Pig turned around to see Poison Ivy, standing, hands on her hips, behind them with a sultry smirk playing on her lips. She wore nothing but leaves that were barely covering the innapropriates.

Pig slapped the taller man's shoulders, and forced him to turn around. Ivy grabbed a lock of her fire-engine red hair and tucked it over her shoulder, lifting an eyebrow, "Now boys, didn't mommy ever tell you that breaking and entering is bad?"

"It's not breaking and entering if the door is open," Pig said.

Poison Ivy tutted, tracing a finger over Pig's shoulder, tapping his chin, and leaning forward to stare him dead in the eyes, "What's your name?"

"H-Horace M-Moore, but my f-friends call me P-Pig, ma'am." Pig stammered.

"Hmm," Ivy mused, "Wonder why."

Ivy turned to the taller man and pressed a hand on his chest, "And your's?"

"Derrick Hemsworth. I'm known around the Underworld as Bullseye." He replied.

"Bullseye," Ivy pursed her lips and retreated, "What do you want?"

"Mob job." Bullseye said, placing his hand on Pig's shoulder and squeezing to make sure he didn't add anything.

"The mob doesn't need my plant toxin." Ivy crossed her arms, unconvinced, "If they need any toxin at all, they can just bribe Crane to make it for them."

"We don't work for Falcone, or Black Mask." Bullseye supplied.

"Ah," Ivy sneered, "It's those upstarts. They think they can just waltz into Gotham now that Gordon is booted off the force? What do they need with my plant toxin?"

"It's not what they need with it," Bullseye said, "It's what they need with _you_."

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**Please, do review. :)**


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